


Jolly Old Elf

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Holidays, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is Santa. Well, the Northeast Regional Santa, anyway, and it’s December 24th, and he’s GOT TO GO!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jolly Old Elf

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time during S1.
> 
> Originally published on my LJ last year for the Twelve Days of Ficmas.

Peter looked at the reports arrayed on his desk, then at the computer screen that showed Neal’s movements over the last 72 hours, and finally down at Neal seated at his desk in the bullpen. To anyone else who might be observing, his CI seemed to be quietly doing his work. But Peter knew better. He could see the tenseness in Neal’s shoulders, and the way he kept glancing surreptitiously at the wall clock mounted over the main doors to the White Collar unit. 

Peter glanced back down at the reports and frowned; as much as he was dreading the coming unpleasantness, he supposed he ought to cowboy up and get it over with. He rose from his desk and walked out to the railing. “Neal,” he called. When Neal looked over, Peter gave him the two-finger point and beckoned him to come and join him. 

“Something up, Peter?” Neal asked expectantly when he arrived, eyebrows raised.

“Close the door, Neal. Have a seat.” Peter picked up the file folder he had been looking at and dropped it on the desk in front of Neal.

“What’s this?” 

“Analysis of your web browsing activities for the past month.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re spying on me,” Neal said quietly, clearly annoyed.

“Planning on going somewhere soon, Neal?” Peter asked, his words clipped.

“Well, it is Christmas Eve. I was hoping to be getting home soon, actually.”

“There are searches for dampening tracking signals in there,” Peter said, ignoring him, “and I see from your tracking data you’ve been to quite a few electronics supply houses?”

Neal’s gaze on his was unwavering, but he said nothing. 

“What have you got to say for yourself, Neal?”

“It’s not what you think, Peter.”

“And what do I think?”

“That I’m trying to escape.”

“Are you?”

“No. Yes. Only for a day.”

“A day.”

“A night, actually. This night.”

“Christmas Eve? What, have you got a hot date?”

“No. I have a job to do.” When Peter opened his mouth to retort, Neal interrupted him. “Not that kind of job. It’s an ancient covenant that I must honor, passed down through my family for generations. A responsibility, Peter, that I cannot shirk.” His tone was conversational but his eyes were intense and focused; there was no mistaking the importance of this to him, nor the passion he was feeling, and it took Peter aback. 

“What could be so important, Neal?”

Neal seemed about to answer, but then closed his mouth and looked away. 

“You’d better tell me, Neal, because once the Marshals get this data, there’s no telling what will happen.”

When Neal looked at him, his expression was open yet guarded, like he wanted to trust Peter but wasn’t sure. “Neal,” Peter prompted and Neal looked down at his hands.

“I’m a Santa Claus,” Neal mumbled.

“You’re a what now?” 

“Santa Claus.”

“You’re Santa Claus.”

“Well I’m _a_ Santa Claus. The Northeast Regional Santa Claus, to be exact, as my grandfather was, and his father before him.”

“Like, ho-ho-ho and all that jazz?” 

“Yes.”

“You jump down chimneys?” 

“Of course not, why do you think I got so good with lockpicks?” 

“You’re a lot fitter than your marketing would suggest.”

Neal shrugged. “As I said, I’m not the only one. And you’ve got to be fit to schlep all those toys out of the sleigh.”

“There’s a sleigh?”

“Of course.”

“And the eight tiny reindeer?”

“Well, no – that’s a myth. I’ve got a horse. Sleipnir. He has eight legs, so I understand the confusion. God, I thought you were smart.”

“And I thought you didn’t take drugs.”

“I’m not lying to you, Peter. I’ve never lied to you.”

“How long you been doing this?”

“Since I was 21. It’s my birthright, my duty.”

“You were in prison for four years,” Peter pointed out.

Neal shrugged. “They never noticed when I left, not for one night. Not _that_ night, when the nog was flowing. It was almost embarrassingly easy.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Neal stared at him for a minute, as if taking his measure. “It’s been a long time since you believed, hasn’t it?” he said quietly, “not since you were eight, Peter. After that, you never went to see Santa again. Why is that?”

“How do you know that?”

“We have a very good database. What happened that year, Peter?”

Peter got up and turned his back, walked over to the windows and stared out over the midday traffic. “I didn’t get what I wanted for Christmas.”

“What did you want?”

Peter didn’t answer. 

“What did you want, Peter?”

“I wanted my little sister back,” Peter replied, his voice rough with emotion. “She drowned, and my folks were never the same. Our family was never the same. I asked Santa, but -”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That, uh, that’s not part of the magic,” Neal explained sadly.

“I don’t imagine it is. But when you’re eight, you want to believe Santa can do anything.”

“I’m very sorry, Peter.”

Peter turned back around, his mouth a tight line. “Thanks. I can’t let you off your tracker, Neal.”

“I have to go. This is not a negotiation, Peter. It’s Christmas, and it’s too important to those who believe. I can’t fail them.”

“If you go, they’ll send you back to prison.”

“Then I will go back to prison, but I have a duty, Peter.” 

“I understand you think you do, Neal, but I can’t allow it.”

Neal nodded, sighed. “If I convince you I am what I say I am, will you let me go?”

Peter looked at him sideways, but Neal showed no sign he was trying to con Peter, so he nodded. 

“Look under your desk.”

Peter walked back to his desk and there on the floor was a gift-wrapped box that hadn’t been there minutes earlier. “What’s this?”

“A present for you. Open it.”

Brows furrowed, Peter bent down to retrieve the gift. He set it on the desk and tore into a corner of the paper tentatively. “It’s not a bomb, Peter.” He ripped a large sheet of the paper off.

“James Bond’s gun and secret attaché case,” Peter breathed, ripping the remaining paper off and picking the toy up to inspect it closer. “I wanted one of these when I was ten.” He removed the small plastic case from its box and opened it up. There lay the cap gun, the secret plans, the plastic communicator watch that all of his friends had gotten that year. “How did you know?”

Neal waved a hand. “Predictive analytics. Like I said, we have a very good database. Actually, you wanting that toy explains a lot. Huh – I never put two and two together before…”

“This is incredible!” Peter was eyeing the contents of the plastic case with a mixture of wonder and amazement.

“It’s Christmas magic, Peter. Kind of my stock in trade.” He rose from his seat.“Well, gotta go and suit up.”

“The red and white fur?”

Neal smiled. “Much to my regret, some traditions die hard, but at least they let me wear faux fur.” He headed for the door.

“Neal.” Neal turned, eyebrows raised. “You swear you’ll be back in the morning?”

“On the souls of my ancestors,” Neal said gravely.

Peter snagged the anklet’s key off his key ring and tossed it to Neal, who gratefully lifted his foot onto the chair and removed the tracker. “Don’t make me regret this, Neal.”

“You won’t. Santa doesn’t lie.”

“He just commits a little light B-and-E every year.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

“Have a good ride, I guess.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring you some cookies.” He shook his head and sighed heavily. “There are always cookies.”

Peter laughed. “I guess you get pretty sick of them.”

“You have no idea. Even the horse won’t eat them. Well, must dash away.”

Peter watched his retreating back until he disappeared down the stairs, then went back to inspecting his James Bond attaché case with an expression of amazement. And over the din of the bullpen, he faintly heard the ring of the elevator’s bell when it arrived, and he heard Neal exclaim before it took him out of sight, 

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
